


The Bed & Breakfast

by SmilesLikeIMeanIt



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, F/F, brittana
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:53:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25698373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilesLikeIMeanIt/pseuds/SmilesLikeIMeanIt
Summary: Santana Lopez isn't pleased to find her life uprooted to a small town in nowhere Ohio, and even less impressed to discover she is the new owner of a rundown bed and breakfast... That is, until she meets one Brittany S. Pierce.Modern A/U
Relationships: Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	The Bed & Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Like many of the fandom, I have found myself rewatching Glee these last few weeks and it's reignited my Brittana loving heart.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“You have _got_ to be _freaking_ kidding me.”

Santana studies the 4x6 photograph again, noting how perfectly the white window frames and shutters popped against the vibrant azure walls of the house, the cute window baskets stuffed to the brim with brightly coloured petunias, geraniums, and she thinks she spots some zinnias hidden in there too, and though it’s difficult to be sure from the faded picture, that looks like a swing hanging in the porch. Dropping it to her side in a huff, she stares in disbelief at the decrepit shell of a building before her.

“I think it’s got character” offers the blonde to her right.

“I think mi abuela was a secret comedian because this is _joke_.”

“Come on, Santana, it’s not that bad.”

“Uhm, I’m sorry, Q, are we looking at the same house? Because what I’m seeing here is a pile of garbage.”

Quinn stands straighter, hands on hips in the way she does when she’s seriously considering something.

“OK so it could use a little TLC,” she concedes, “but it has potential.”

“That’s putting it nicely. I can’t believe this is what she left me. What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I thought you were planning on selling it?”

“Who’s gonna buy this dump? The Adams family?”

“You could do it up a little.”

“HA! You got jokes too I see.”

“I’m serious, why not take it on as a passion project?”

Santana looks at her friend in bewilderment, wondering if she had gone certifiably insane.

“Uhm, maybe because that would cost money, and time, and I wasn’t planning on staying in this skid mark of America town for longer than was necessary.”

“So I take it we won’t be staying here tonight then?”

“Not a chance, we’re getting a hotel.” She turns swiftly back towards the car, eager to shower the stench of this town off of her as soon as possible.

“Hello! Excuse me, wait!”

Santana closes her eyes and takes a calming breath, she had been so close to escape.

She does her best to look composed as she turns to address the curly haired man in the ill-fitting suit jogging down the garden path towards them.

“Can I help you?” the irritation in her tone is evident and earns her a warning look from Quinn.

“Miss Lopez? Right?” the man extends a hand to Santana when he eventually reaches the driver side door. She eyes it for a moment, deciding this man looks altogether too dishevelled and sweaty to engage in physical contact with, instead, she folds her arms and offers him her most intimidating stare.

“Who’s asking?”

Awkwardly retracting his hand, the man places his palm on his chest, “Will Schuester, property agent.” When she remains unfazed, he clarifies, “We spoke on the phone?”

“Yeah I remember.”

Will looks relieved at the recognition, if a bit terrified at the way she narrows her eyes at him.

“What I don’t recall is you mentioning your plan to drag me all the way to bumfuck Hicksville Ohio to murder me in an abandoned crack den.”

He laughs, stopping abruptly when he realises that wasn’t a joke.

“Oh no, Miss Lopez, I assure you this property has never been used for narcotics of any kind… or murder for that matter.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Santana utters under her breath.

“Shall we take a tour?” Will moves back towards the house, visibly more relaxed to be outside of Santana’s close proximity.

“Do we have to?” She asks, throwing a horrified glance to Quinn.

“Come on Santana, it’ll be good to see what you’re working with. And who knows, the inside might be better!”

*

“Well, it’s hardly the Ritz.” Santana comments, stepping through the front door.

Admittedly, it wasn’t as gross inside as she had imagined, though considering she had expected to see oversized rats gnawing at exposed floorboards, and graffiti covered wallpaper, that wasn’t saying a whole lot.

She looks around her, taking in her surroundings carefully – Quinn was right, it did have some potential. The hardwood floors looked to be in relatively good shape, the wallpaper was old fashioned but sort of worked with the aesthetic, the furniture was pretty dated but could pass for vintage, the ceilings were high and she was surprised by the amount of natural light that flowed through the windows. The beautiful shutters from the photograph had been replaced by net curtains that would absolutely need to be removed, and there was a faint smell of musk in the air, but there was also something incredibly familiar and comforting about this place that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“I think it’s cute.” Quinn commented, shaking her from her musings, “It reminds me of my grandma’s house.”

“Who’s that?” Santana ignored the comment, nodding toward a large, oafish looking man behind a worn yet expensive looking wooden desk whom she hadn’t noticed at first but who was waving enthusiastically at them with an awkward half-smile.

“Oh, that’s Finn, he’s the concierge.” Will explained.

Ignoring Will, Santana addresses Finn directly, “So you’re the receptionist?”

Finn’s smile faltered, he looked unsure as to whether or not she was making fun of him. “Uhm, I guess?”

Santana nodded, turning her attention to Will, “And would you like to explain to me why there’s a receptionist in my house?”

“Well, it’s a bit unorthodox for guests to check themselves in.” Will chuckles, causing Santana to roll her eyes, she had just about met her quota of unfunny jokes for today.

“Guests?”

Will’s smile faded, “You’re aware this is a bed and breakfast?”

“I’m aware this _was_ a bed and breakfast. Past tense.”

“Oh no, it’s still very much in use.”

“Well, we’re open, we don’t get so many guests since the motel opened up just outside of town” Finn chimed in.

“And who pays Lumps over there?” She gestured back at the man who self-consciously tugged at the arms of his sweater.

“This is just a part-time gig for Finn, he doesn’t actually get paid for working here but he does live here rent-free in exchange for his services.”

“Guess that makes us sort of roommates.” He said eagerly, but averted his eyes immediately at the horrified look thrown his way from Santana.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, moving to sit on one of the velvet covered loveseats, “Please tell me this is all a horrible nightmare? This cannot be real life.”

Quinn joined her, placing a comforting hand on her knee, “It’s really not that bad.”

Santana took her friend’s hand and squeezed it, a rare display of public affection, offering her a kind smile before hardening her expression and turning her focus back to Will.

“Ok, so what’s the deal here Schuester? Are you going to be able to sell this place?

“Absolutely!” his beaming smile and enthusiasm pissed Santana off beyond belief but she tried to not let it show too much.

“Great.” She stood again, squaring her shoulders as she came face to face with the realtor, “Let’s talk numbers. How much we talking?”

Opening his leather bound folder, Will shuffled through a few loose pages until he found the one he was looking for. “In its current state, you’re looking at about one twenty five.”

Santana snatched the paper from his hand, almost causing it to rip. “125K? No! No way! I need at least double that.”

Will looked apologetic, “I’m sorry Miss Lopez, but it just won’t go for any more than that in its current condition.”

“What can I do?”

“Well, you could invest into it a little, spruce the place up, the bed and breakfast industry is pretty lucrative in towns like this.”

“Ugh!” Santana groans, rubbing her fingers to her temple and returning to her place beside Quinn, falling dramatically in to her open arms.

Quinn looked up at Will apologetically, “Can she have some time to think it over?”

He nodded. “Of course.” Digging around in the leather folder again he produces a small rectangular card, “here’s my card, let me know once you’ve made your decision.”

**

“What am I going to do, Q?” Santana asks banging her head lightly against the table of the little cafe, it was dramatic, she knew, but it felt appropriate.

Placing her hand under Santana’s forehead – she couldn’t deal with her friend complaining about bruising along with everything else – Quinn ushers Santana into an upright position.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to sell that dive and take a really long vacation somewhere hot, with beautiful women, and delicious cocktails.”

Quinn shrugs, “So sell it.”

Santana doesn’t even try to hide her crestfallen expression, “You know I can’t sell it for that price, Quinn. It’s not enough.”

Quinn reaches her hand across the table, wiggling her fingers for Santana to take. “Then stay here for a while, put some work into it, and sell it for full whack.”

“I don’t know the first thing about renovations.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Quinn tries to hide her amusement of the image of her friend renovating the B&B by taking a sip of her water, but Santana sees right through it.

“You don’t think I can do it.” She narrows her eyes.

Quinn feigns shock. “I have the utmost faith in you, Santana.”

“Why don’t you stick around and help?”

Quinn laughs at the suggestion, reminding Santana that she has a job to get back to.

“You’re the worst.” Santana throws a fry at the giggling blonde.

“You love me.”

She doesn’t argue with that.

**

Evening came upon them fast and the two girls soon realised there wasn’t much to discover in the tiny town. Main Street seemed to be where it’s at and there wasn’t a whole lot to it – two mediocre looking cafés, a cute little bakery, a dated book store, a convenience store that seemed to pass for a supermarket in these parts, a doctor’s surgery, and a vets clinic. They had been advised by the old woman who ran the smaller of the two cafés that the nearest bar was a 10 minute drive outside of town and Santana shuddered to think what kind of dive this bar would turn out to be, but she could definitely use a drink after the day she had had.

Persuading Finn to give them a ride the promise she wouldn’t poke jabs at his weight anymore – a promise she told herself she would truly try to keep – she donned her most flattering red dress, and killer lipstick and hoped the vodka here was at least strong.

“Here we are ladies.” He beamed back at them from the front seat, seemingly proud to have delivered them safely to their destination.

Santana peered through the rear window suspiciously, the area surrounding it was nothing but empty space and darkness, the parking lot dimly lit by some fading street lamps, a bright neon sign above the door read Rosalita’s Roadhouse, and she’s unsure why but she’s mildly disappointed that it doesn’t look like the rustic, converted barn she had pictured in her head.

Reluctantly opening the car door, she sighs “Alright, let’s do this.”

She’s a few feet from the entrance when hears another car door close.

“Eh, where do you think you’re going?” She demands when she sees Finn exit a moment later.

He shoves his hands awkwardly in his pockets and offers her that same half-smile he wore earlier, “I thought you guys could use some muscle.”

“Don’t make me laugh, I have more muscle in my left butt-cheek than you do in your whole body, and while this town clearly didn’t get the memo, this isn’t 1950, women are perfectly capable of looking after themselves in a bar thank you very much Sir William Marhsal.”

Finn’s paling complexion was evident even in the poor light.

“No- I didn’t mean-“ he fumbles over his words.

Santana mimicks his deer-in-headlights expression, flailing her arms, not quite done with handing him a tasty dose of Snixx-juice.

“Didn’t mean to imply that we are two damsels in distress in need of a knight in faded plaid to come to our rescue?”

Finn looked to the ground, shuffling a rock with his boot, he shrugs “I know you can take care of yourselves, Santana. It was just a joke, I thought we could hang out.”

His dispirited expression was enough to make Santana feel at least a little sorry for him, but it was Quinn’s encouraging squeeze to her forearm that makes her cave.

“Ugh, fine,” she rolls her eyes, “but first round’s on you. And don’t you even think of trying to hit on us.”

Finn pulls back from the finger pointed in his face, holding his hands up in surrender, “You have my word.”

*

They’re met with a blast of heat on entry, the air is thick and Santana feels her under-boob start to sweat before she’s even passed the threshold. It’s surprisingly well lit, more so than she was used to from the city bars she frequented, but it allows her to take in her surroundings better, she is definitely overdressed.

Finn stands in front of them and claps his hands together, broad smile back in place, the events of outside clearly forgotten.

“So, what are you gals drinkin’?”

“I’ll have a vodka-soda, thanks Finn.” Quinn requests politely, wearing that doe-eyed smile that always guarantees she gets her way.

“I’ll have a martini, dry, two olives.”

“Comin’ right up!”

As Finn makes his way to the bar, the two girls take a seat toward the back of the room, there’s a small empty square with flooring that doesn’t quite match the rest of the décor that Santana guesses is the dancefloor, no one’s using it yet but the night is young and the jukebox seems to have a lengthy selection.

It’s busier than she expected but then she supposes it is a Friday night and this is the only bar for god-knows how many miles.

“Finn’s kinda cute.” Quinn comments out of the blue.

Santana’s not surprised, he’s got Quinn’s type written all over him.

“Sure, if you’re into guys who look like gassy infants with jiggly man boobs.”

“Be nice, Santana.” The blonde warns, “He’s actually seems like a really decent guy, and you’re going to need a friend around here when I leave.”

“Do I though?”

“What are we laughing at?” Finn looks between the pair, setting the drinks on the table.

“Your sucky driving.” Santana bites back without missing a beat.

“Don’t you get tired of tearing people down?”

It’s ballsy, she’ll give him that.

“Calm down, I’m just messing you with. It’s how I show endearment.”

Finn looks to Quinn for confirmation and she provides him with an encouraging nod.

“So, are there any people in town under the age of fifty, or are we it?” Santana asks, genuinely curious because the only people here are old truckers and weather-beaten women dressed in so much animal print it looks like they raided a zoo.

“Oh yeah, there’s a tonne of people our age. I actually texted some friends to stop by tonight, I hope that’s ok with you guys, I thought it’d be fun for you to meet some people.”

“Can’t wait.”

Her words are laced with sarcasm but Finn doesn’t seem to notice, smiling proudly at his efforts.

Santana takes a large gulp of her martini, relishing the way the alcohol burns her throat and warms her belly – it’s no Russian Vodka Room standard, but it’s pretty decent.

“So Finn, tell us more about what you do? How did you end up at the B&B?” Quinn wraps her teeth around her straw, smiling up at Finn through fluttering lashes.

“Oh, I grew up there, my mom used to run it when that lady- sorry Santana, when Santana’s grandma moved in with her son in Boston, she let us live there when my mom lost her job, I was maybe like, five years old, anyway my mom got remarried a little while back and got a job working at this old folks home in North Hills which I guess was like her dream job but she felt bad about leaving the B&B so I offered to keep an eye on the place and I get to live there rent-free so that’s pretty sweet.”

“That wasn’t my grandma.” Santana states, noting the confused look on Finn’s face. “The old lady from your story, that wasn’t my grandma, it was her sister, they hated each other. I don’t think they saw each other in like, twenty years.”

“Then, how did you end up with it?”

Santana shrugs, “She left it to my abuela when she passed and that hellish woman left it to me as one final screw you.”

“What do you do for money?” Quinn asks, pulling the conversation away from Santana’s complicated family life.

“Oh,” Finn perks up, sitting straighter in his chair, “I work at my step-dad’s shop, _Hummel Tires and Lube_.”

“Wanky.” Santana sniggers, downing what’s left of her drink. “Ok who’s for another?”

The other two decline, still nursing almost full glasses. Santana excuses herself to the bar just as Quinn starts quizzing Finn more about his life, a tale Santana can’t imagine contains anything of interest.

She flags the bartender with the ease of someone whose spent many a night bar hopping in bustling Manhattan, “Martini, dry… make it a double.”

“Are you like a spy or something?”

“Excuse me?” Santana turns to the source of the question and is pleasantly surprised with what she finds.

“Martini, shaken, not stirred.” The leggy blonde says in her best Sean Connery impression, “You know, 007?”

Santana lets out the first genuine laugh she’s had since arriving in this godforsaken place, “I’m familiar with the reference.”

“So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

The blonde with impossibly blue eyes, and cheekbones to die for leans in close, shifts her eyes around them for any eavesdroppers, and whispers, “A spy.”

Santana can’t help but eye her curiously, she can’t tell whether or not the girl is joking but she’s down to play along; leaning in to where the other girl sits waiting, she keeps a straight face, mirroring the girl’s low tone, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

The blonde sits back up quickly, eyes comically wide, and breaks into a wide smile a moment later.

“I haven’t seen you around here before.” She notes, playing with the straw in her glass, gaze set firmly on Santana.

“Thanks.” Santana accepts her own drink from the bartender before returning her attention to the beautiful woman in the sinfully tight dress, “I’m not from around here, just in town taking care of some business.”

The girl laughs and Santana’s stomach flutters at the melodic sound.

“No one comes here for business. Why are you really here? Did your car break down?”

Santana observes the girl for a moment, taking a languid sip of her martini to buy herself some time, she’s stunning, and exactly Santana’s type – tall, blonde, nice legs, hot body – and Santana considers telling her the truth, but then considers if she didn’t, if she allowed this beautiful stranger to believe she was someone else, just for tonight. It’s a routine she had down to a fine art in New York, meet an attractive stranger in a bar, be vague on the personal details, what did it matter anyway when the agenda and attraction was mutual?

“Secret mission.” Santana says eventually with a wink.

The girl smiles, “What’s your name, mysterious stranger?”

Santana offers her hand, “Santana Lopez.”

The blonde stares at it for a moment before taking Santana’s fingers delicately in her own and leaning forward to kiss the back of her hand. It’s an odd gesture, not one she’s received before, but it makes Santana giggle.

“I’m Brittany.” Brittany offers without being asked. “Very nice to meet you.”

Santana doesn’t ever recall a time she shared such intense eye contact with anyone before, at least not with someone whose clothes she hadn’t ripped off five seconds later. It’s intimidating, and a little overwhelming but she doesn’t dare break it. She smirks.

“Nice to meet you too.”


End file.
